


Tell Yourself It's Just Business

by BlackKite7



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Major Character Injury, Slow Build, Violence, basically an au about assassin's falling in love when they really shouldn't, eventually, everyone wonders why oikawa is allowed to have a gun, everyone's aged up a good few years, iwaizumi is a babysitter for grown men, iwaoi and kurodai will appear as the story progresses and potentially bokuaka, kuroo owns a bar and has a monopoly as an information broker, other characters will be tagged if and when they appear but those are the mains for the moment, suga isn't as innocent as he seems and makki learns the hard way, tags will be better all around with updates as things happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackKite7/pseuds/BlackKite7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A job is a job. Nothing can interfere with it, least of all personal whims. But after botching a contract and getting his ass handed to him by a mysterious silver haired man, Hanamaki can't help but wonder who he was, and wants to get a little payback to settle his nerves. A series of odd jobs and backroom meetings uncover some interesting information along the way, and draws the attention of unwanted enemies.<br/> <br/><b>Tags will be updated as the story progresses.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beyond Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaneki_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaneki_coffee/gifts).



> Yet another story for kaneki_coffee because they won't stop filling my head with incredible aus and now we're in rarer than rare pair hell (there isn't even a tumblr tag for sugamakki i cri). This was supposed to be a really simple, cute assassin au for SugaMakki but we got IwaOi involved and now it hurts. I had about five different titles in mind for this that kept me from posting sooner, and I'm sorry for the pitiful state of my tags, I'm terrible at tagging. Anyway, enjoy cute assassin bubs duking it out and slowly falling in love.

The Red Light District was one of Hanamaki’s least favourite places to be when undertaking a job. The overabundant scent of sweat and cheap perfume that usually filled the air was dampened by the light rain falling from dark clouds, but it did nothing to deter from those going to and from bars and strip clubs and love hotels. Fluorescent lights flickered in the rippling reflections of puddles and Hanamaki dipped his head, shielding his eyes from the blinking lights. Leaning against the concrete wall of a brothel, Hanamaki shifted his weight from foot to foot, the unease beginning to set in the longer Matsukawa remained silent on the opposite end of an earpiece. His eyes scanned the crowd from under the dark hood pulled high over his head; once, twice – he clicked his tongue impatiently and he resisted the urge to raise his hand to talk into the receiver taped to his neck.

He had to wait. Matsukawa had told him he would contact him again when he had eyes on the target. Hanamaki just had to wait, though that was easier said than done when Matsukawa was inside where it was nice and warm and not freezing on the street.

The longer Hanamaki waited in the street, rolling his eyes every few minutes when a party of drunks stumbled in front of him, the more agitated he became. He tried not to breathe in the smell of vomit and alcohol and fiddled with his fingers within the pockets of his hoodie, his eyes constantly sifting through the crowd, searching for one face in particular. The photograph he and Matsukawa had been given was that of a corporate employee ID tag, which made it easier for them to memorise his face. Pale skin, light silvery hair, round copper brown eyes and a noticeable mole under his left eye. Their employer hadn’t provided them with a name, often a sign that they had already gone to great lengths to ensure they would not be found easily once taken care of. All they knew was that he had gotten his hands on some information he shouldn’t have, and now he was a risk to someone big and rich. One they couldn’t allow, but one they were willing to pay to get rid of.

It was usually the same story. Hanamaki had gotten tired of hearing it from so many different mouths.

“ _Makki_.” The low voice of his partner vibrated through his ear and Hanamaki sighed heavily in relief. He’d been quiet for too long, he was a few moments away from fearing the worst. “ _Target just left the bar, headed your way._ ”

Without a word, Hanamaki pushed off the wall he leaned against and stepped out into the rainy street, the hood of his jacket shielding his face as he walked along the slowly, taking his time. With a careful moment, Hanamaki raised his hand and dipped his head. As he rubbed the back of his neck, he pressed his fingers against a small button that would allow him to speak into the receiver, and gave a short confirmation that he received Matsukawa’s message before relaxing his stance once more. He walked slowly, calmly, and soon enough a silver-haired stranger overtook him, walking at a slightly faster pace, and Hanamaki fixed his gaze on him immediately. Hanamaki kept a few feet behind him, tailing him as he had tailed others before. According to their employer, he walked a regular route from a bar to the train station after a shift at work, and there were several places along the way that would provide him with an opportunity to get the jump on him.

Or rather, that was the plan. Hanamaki could barely remember the last time anything had gone to plan on job’s like this.

For whatever reason, his target left his usual path and turned into a side street full of back alley doors leading into bars and small restaurants. Hanamaki leaned against the wall and quickly raised his hand to his throat, talking into the receiver once more while keeping a narrowed set of eyes keen on his back.

“Mattsun, he went off course.” Hanamaki hissed the words into the receiver, his eyes narrowing more at his target, who was beginning to happily whistle as he sauntered down the side street.

“ _What? You better not be fucking around right now Hanamaki._ ” Matsukawa asked in disbelief.

“Seriously? Whatever, what do you want me to do?” Hanamaki had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Wasn’t like Matsukawa would be around to see it anyway.

“ _Plan doesn’t change, wait for an opening and get him before he gets somewhere you can’t touch him._ ” Matsukawa’s voice was firm and Hanamaki nodded slightly, utterly a brief ‘ _alright_ ’ under his breath as he began to tail his target once more.

The side street itself was relatively well lit – for a back alley that is – but there were a number of paths that lead back onto the main road. It put Hanamaki off, to say the least. There were others in the alley, a few stragglers approaching from the opposite end, a man with a prostitute fooling around behind a dumpster, a homeless man sleeping beside said dumpster. Hanamaki kept his eyes focused on the navy business suit ahead of him though. When they turned a corner off into another street, Hanamaki followed suit.

“ _Hanamaki, your tracker just went offline, where are-_ ” The sound of static burst through his ear drum and Hanamaki winced, grunting as he quickly ripped the earpiece from his head, the wires snapping away from his neck. Glaring down at the device, Hanamaki could just barely make out the sound of Matsukawa’s voice coming out of the earpiece, garbled and distorted by static.

“Piece of shit.” Hanamaki cursed and tossed it aside to clatter on the rain soaked ground before lifting his head to land on a target that was no longer there. Hanamaki felt his heart lodge in his throat in that moment and he grit his teeth together as he quickly dashed forward, his hand instinctively diving into his jacket to grip a pistol holstered against his chest. “God damnit…!”

Hanamaki ran through the side street, his eyes darting down narrow alleys in search of the silver haired man, his feet kicking up droplets of water as he stomped through small puddles and dashed around corners.

As he rounded a corner, he came to a skidding halt when something was swung at him from the shadows. He slipped on the wet concrete and landed roughly on his side and growled, just barely managing to roll away as the silhouette above him swung at him once more, the sound of metal ringing as it vibrated in his attacker’s hands after striking the ground. Hanamaki rolled onto his haunches and sprang up, the front of his jacket flying open as he took the pistol from the holster and tried to aim the barrel down at him. The silver haired man had already closed the short distance between them and grabbed his wrist, yanking it away from his person and twisting it until Hanamaki yelped in pain and was forced to drop the pistol in favour of keeping his arm unharmed.

Gritting his teeth, Hanamaki used his free hand reach up and grab a fistful of that silky, silver hair, jerking it hard as he forced the man back a step or two, his eyes darting to the ground in search of the pistol in the dark as they struggled. His target however spun them around, pushing him against the hard brick walls and ducking out of his grasp, keeping a short distance between them. It was then that Hanamaki managed to get a good look at his target, up close and personal.

He was shorter than Hanamaki was, considerably so, and much leaner, swifter even perhaps. The round copper eyes he had seen in the photograph were narrowed and sharp, striking even, and he felt a chill go down his spine. Perhaps it had been from the rain. He doubted it a little in that moment. And just a few days ago he and the others had made jokes about what a refreshing, upbeat salaryman he looked like.

But it was extremely unlikely a mere salaryman could have such a death defying sense of danger.

As Hanamaki shifted his weight, the narrow eyes piercing through him twitched, and suddenly the silver haired man lunged at him, but Hanamaki was ready that time and ducked under a fist aimed at the side of his face and reached to grab him, his fingers slipping on the wet fabric as he tried to cling to the sleeve.

The nimble man twisted strangely, and suddenly the weight in front of him vanished as he had slipped out of the jacket, quick enough on his feet to twist it around Hanamaki’s arm and swing his weight around. The wet surface of the ground made him slip once more but he levelled his weight and balanced himself. No sooner had he done so and fixed his gaze on his target once more was he forced to jump back as something sharp glinted in dim light in the alley, the edge of a thin blade striking up and slicing the flesh of his upper lip and gazing a spot just under his eye.

The taste of blood filled his mouth as the wound on his lip began to bleed profusely, but he had no time to think on it and tried to back out of the other’s reach. He was getting careless now. He couldn’t allow himself to be done in so soon. Oikawa still owed him a box of creampuffs.

In the split second he had looked away from the silver haired man, he had already tried to close the distance, but Hanamaki wouldn’t let him get so close so easily, not a second time. The blade shifted in his hand, held loosely but confidently in his palm, but Hanamaki raised a hand and grabbed hold of his fist as it was aimed up at his throat once more, the edge of the dagger slicing the inside of his palm. Hanamaki forcefully ripped it from his grasp and threw it to the ground before slamming his head forward and head-butting the man, causing him to stumble back in a daze. His target was not so defenceless though, as when he swung his elbow upright he leaned back out of his reach, but stumbled over his own two feet trying to put a distance between them. Hanamaki kept close to him, forcing him to the sides of the alleyway as he closed in on him.

An opening came when he managed to back the silver haired man against a wall, and he reached forward and dug his fingers into the collar of his dress shirt, yanking forward on it as he aimed to slam his fist against his face. Before he could land the hit however, his target leaned against his body, throwing his weight against him and knocking him off balance until they collided on the ground. They rolled and jabbed one another in the gut and tried to get the one up on one another. The silver-haired man rammed his knee dup into Hanamaki’s stomach and rolled out from under him, and as Hanamaki raised him up to throw himself at the silver haired man once more, he heard a familiar sound, the heavy click of gun being cocked, and froze.

His gun, no doubt, and when his gaze once again firmly locked with his targets, he found himself staring down the barrel of his own pistol.

Breathless and bleeding, Hanamaki heaved a heavy sigh as he leaned back and sat on his knees as the silver haired man slowly raised himself up onto his feet and stood over him, rain soaking through the front of his shirt and leaving his hair sticking to his face. They were engulfed in silence in the alley, the nearby sounds of chatter from the street all but drowned out by the rain.

“I’d heard rumours, you know,” It was the first time Hanamaki had heard his voice. It was oddly light, soft and warm even, despite the current situation. The man’s gaze dropped to Hanamaki’s hand, the palm of it sliced open and bleeding as he held it close to his chest, a vain attempt to slow the bleeding. “You’re more serious than they say.”

“That so?” Hanamaki raised a thin brow at him, smirking bitterly and wincing as he did so. The pain in his lip worsened when he spoke, and he turned his head to spit the pooling blood out of his mouth. Something told him he was going to get a few stitches later. “Were you looking for a fight, then?”

“With you? Hell no.” The man scoffed and laughed at him. Hanamaki wasn’t unused to casual conversations at gunpoint. Although he was generally the one behind the gun. “Honestly, I was really hoping I was mistaken when I caught you following me. It’s just my luck they’d hire a guy like you to do this kind of work.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been naughty, taking what isn’t yours. I got sent to give you a time-out, all that jazz.” Hanamaki hummed the words as he rocked himself back and forth on his knees slowly. He had to play his cards right, a wrong move and he’d have a hole in his head. “Something tells me you’re no stranger to this kind of this.”

“You’re not wrong.” The silver haired man mused with a sickly sweet grin as he echoed Hanamaki’s meaning.

“You going to kill me, then?” Hanamaki pursed his lips tightly as he stared up at his target. Though it felt more like Hanamaki was the target given the current circumstances.

“If I do that, I’ll have a lot more to worry about than some pissed off corporate thugs.” The man huffed and took a step to the side, beginning to circle Hanamaki, neither one breaking eye contact. “I’m not that stupid, and starting a series of revenge killings isn’t what I was asked to do.”

“Well then, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, what are you going to do then?” Hanamaki narrowed his eyes at him, glaring as the corners of his lips perked up into a taut smirk.

“Just going to make sure you don’t delay me any longer. Don’t want your buddies coming after me just yet either.” When he had stopped talking, the silver haired man had come to a stop behind him, and Hanamaki twisted his head around to keep him in his sights, just barely seeing him in the corner of his eyes.

“Hey, one moment.” Hanamaki couldn’t twist his head around any further to look at him, but could still see him sporting that smile that was so polite it was almost mocking. Perhaps it was. “You know me. ‘Sonly fair I get to know who you are.”

The silver haired man was silent for a moment, his jovial smile faltering before appearing once more, far more genuine than before. With a quiet laugh, he stepped a little closer to him, the cold barrel of the gun pressing against the base of his skull as he lowered his head to rest it beside his, his lips touching the rim of his ear.

“It’s Sugawara.” He breathed out, and Hanamaki tilted his head away a little, trying to resist the shudder that was crawling under his skin. “Don’t clench your teeth.”

And before he knew it, the gun was removed from the back of his skull, but before he could turn to look at the silver haired man – at this Sugawara person – the barrel of the pistol struck him hard on the back of the head. If it had been Matsukawa, who was far more thick headed, he might have been fine, but he wasn’t. He fell forward and collapsed on the ground, his head banging against the concrete and leaving an awful ringing in his skull. His vision became blurry as he slowly lost consciousness, and he could just barely see two scuffed and slightly bloodstained dress shoes stepping around in front of him.

He tried, vainly, to move his arms and push himself up, but felt a foot pressing on his back and shoving him back to the wet ground, and Hanamaki cursed under his breath, soaked through and through by sweat and the rain still falling around them. The strength in his body had well and truly faded as fatigue set in, and unable to force himself to his feet, Hanamaki fell unconscious in the street.

 

* * *

 

The rain had hardly stopped through the night, and in fact had worsened as the heavy, thundering clouds rolled over the city and kept the sky dark even as the sun drew near the horizon. Hanamaki lay under the shelter of an overpass, the sound of traffic resounding above him. He had but a blissful moment of confusion before the pain in his body caused him to roll onto his side, curling up and cradling his head as the aches in his bones spread through his entire being.

The taste of blood was thick on his tongue and after a while, he sat up slowly, feeling a sharp pain shoot through his spine as he did so. He ran a hand through his short hair, hoping he wouldn’t be bleeding from the back of his head.

When Hanamaki pulled his hand away, he was relieved there was no blood there, but the more he came to, the more aware he became of the aches in his body, certain he would be sporting bruises for a week or more, and the headache that may as well have been shaking his skull. Sitting upright as best he could, though more hunched than anything else, Hanamaki dropped his head to look at the palm of his hand, the cut there deep and the skin stained with blood and swollen. He needed to disinfect that quickly. Though considering he was still alive, he could hardly complain in the moment.

“It’s your own fault, you know.” A voice behind him made him jolt on the spot, and he twisted his body to look behind him, despite the pain it caused him. Matsukawa sat there, chewing on the end of a lit cigarette that was nearing the end of its life with a smug grin on his face. “You should never let yourself get distracted by a pretty face.”

“Shut up.” Hanamaki growled the words, his voice low and hoarse. “Where the hell were you anyway?”

“Trying to find your dumb ass.” Matsukawa said and groaned a little as he stood up from the concrete edge he sat on, slowly walking over to where Hanamaki sat while stuffing his hands in the pockets of his large coat. “After your tracker went offline, someone jammed the comms. You’re damn lucky someone spotted that guy dumping your ass here, or this could’ve ended a lot worse.”

“Fuck…” Hanamaki sighed and lifted his uninjured hand to rub his face, being mindful of the cut under his eye. Matsukawa raised a brow at him before removing a hand from his pocket and touching the top of Hanamaki’s head, tilting it back so he could look at him.

“Shit man, that’s gonna scar.” Matsukawa murmured as he bit the end of the cigarette to keep it in his mouth, his eyes drawn to the jagged wound on Hanamaki’s upper lip. “But it’ll learn ya too I guess.”

“You going to keep kicking me while I’m down or are you going to help me up already?” Hanamaki shook his head away from his hand and lifted his hand to grab Matsukawa’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon.” Matsukawa held onto his forearm, easily lifting up Hanamaki and allowing his partner to lean against him, smiling at him as kindly as he would allow himself in the moment. “You do realise Iwaizumi’s gonna rip you a new one, right?”

“Please stop talking.” Hanamaki muttered against his shoulder as he relied on Matsukawa to support his weight, feeling as though he might collapse at any moment. He couldn’t allow himself to – there was no guarantee Matsukawa would be kind enough to stop him falling face first on the ground.

Although Hanamaki was excited to get back to the safe house and get cleaned and stitched up, he also dreaded the thought of Iwaizumi – and by extent Oikawa – finding out that they botched what should have been an easy job. But as Matsukawa wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him up, helping him walking through the rain up towards the main streets where a parked car was waiting for them, he didn’t much care.

Hanamaki had his ass handed to him the night before. He didn’t know where that guy had come from, or where he had gone, or what was going on, but he knew one thing. He was going to settle the score. Like hell he was going to let that man – Sugawara – with his overly polite smile and cheeky eyes get away with knocking him on his ass.

Not without getting payback, however he had to.


	2. Buyer's Confidentiality

The Seijoh syndicate didn’t have a base of operations, rather they had a series of safe houses that they rotated between frequently. It was dangerous to remain tied to one spot, and they made a habit of recycling old spots and scouting out new places every few months to ensure they remained hard to pin down. It had taken Matsukawa very little time to drive there, and half that time was spent rolling his eyes every thirty seconds as Hanamaki lay in the backseat, groaning and whining to himself more than anyone else.

Their current hideout was stashed away behind a series of shopfronts, and after parking the car in the alley nearby, Matsukawa hauled Hanamaki out of the back and towards it, keeping a careful eye out for anyone looking were they shouldn’t. It was early enough in the morning that there were few people around to spy, but they had learned the hard way what carelessness brings.

The safe house was unlocked through an electronic security pad, and sealed once again when they were inside. Hanamaki leaned heavily against Matsukawa’s side as he stumbled down the narrow corridor that led to a flight of stairs going up into their makeshift home.

The upstairs was much more open than the exterior of the apartment would seem, and immediately upon entry it was obvious it was not an ordinary home. The living area had been converted into something of a training area with wide padded mats covering the wooden floors. There, they could spar and engage in mock fights to make sure they didn’t get sloppy in their work. A door slightly ajar by the living room led directly into what they could only call their _business_ room, where the majority of their tech equipment and weapons were stored. The kitchen and bedroom were really the only normal parts of the apartment, and even those were scarce of many personal touches that would make them seem more homey.

With careful hands, Matsukawa all but carried Hanamaki into the spare room of the apartment, which had in essence been converted into a small infirmary, as the bathroom itself was far too small to do any serious patch-ups in. Hanamaki winced and grumbled as Matsukawa lowered him to the ground to sit on the edge of a thick and heavy mattress, the clean sheets of it staining somewhat when Hanamaki laid his hand down on the surface, scrapping dried blood across it.

“Sit still.” Matsukawa told him as he stood to retrieve the first aid kit stored on a metal desk that held surgical supplies that had been brought on the black market. When Hanamaki tried to peel away his bloodstained jacket, Matsukawa lightly smacked his cheek and told him to stay still more firmly, and Hanamaki pouted at him, the act itself making his cut lip sting unpleasantly.

Matsukawa returned to the bed, carrying with him the first aid kit and a chair that had been pushed out of the way of the desk. He sat down in front of Hanamaki, keeping the first aid kit on the bed within reach, and shifted to the side to flick on a bright white table lamp that would help him see better as he took care of the bloodstained moron in front of him.

“Alright, let’s get a look.” Matsukawa said softly as he tugged at Hanamaki’s jacket, removing it for him with care so he didn’t strain anything. Matsukawa pulled his shirt off as well, the front of it soaked in blood that had dripped from his face, and Hanamaki whined as it was pulled over his head, his arms shaking as the aches returned, and Matsukawa apologised quietly.

The front of Hanamaki’s chest was discoloured, stained with the blood that had seeped through the fabric of his shirt and left dark smears on his pale skin. Matsukawa sighed as he stared at him, biting down on his lower lip as he tried to remember how this was done. It wasn’t his job to do this kind of thing…usually, Kunimi was the one who took care of any injuries they sustained out in the field. Nowadays, this duty was shared between Matsukawa and Iwaizumi – simply because they were the ones least likely to get injured, and thus more likely to be caring for their reckless partners.

Before he got started, he tugged on a pair of surgical gloves, the light blue latex snapping at his wrists when he pulled them on. He reminded himself to check for fractures and broken bones first. While Hanamaki had taken a beating, it didn’t seem like he suffered from a punctured lung, or a shattered rib, or anything drastic of that nature – which Matsukawa was relieved about. He didn’t the skills to take care of something like that, and even if he tried, he would probably accidentally kill Hanamaki in the process.

“Hey, be gentle, alright…?” Hanamaki’s voice was quiet and strained.

“In this shape, I don’t think you’d notice.” Matsukawa quipped as he began his examination of Hanamaki’s injuries. Thankfully, there were few, though there were bruises that had showed up in between the time of the fight and when Matsukawa had recovered his unconscious ass.

“With you, I’d know for sure.” Hanamaki breathed out. It was a light hearted comment, but it was one that reminded Matsukawa of something he shouldn’t be thinking of at a time like that, and he cast it out of his mind along with the small ache it left in his heart.

Nothing was said as Matsukawa prodded Hanamaki’s chest lightly. There was an uneasy silence in the air now as Matsukawa felt along his ribcage for any fractures, and satisfied there were none, moved on to taking care of his cut palm. He cleaned the wound first, as he had been fighting in a dirty alley and later had been dumped under a bridge. Only god know what might have gotten into that cut. Hanamaki squirmed the whole time, hissing and grinding his teeth hard together as he tensed his arm to stop himself from closing his hand while Matsukawa worked. When that was done, he applied a numbing gel and waited several moments for it to set before he began to suture the wound before bandaging it. Matsukawa called him a baby whenever Hanamaki looked away or flinched, and Hanamaki reminded himself to kick him for it later.

“We’re nearly done, quit your bitching.” Matsukawa told him as he finished with his hand, moving on to look at the cuts on Hanamaki’s face. The cut on his lip needed stitches, but other than that, he had a few shallow scrapes that only needed cleaning and small bandages.

“Am I still going to be pretty when you’re done?” Hanamaki asked with a slight smirk, though he quickly reigned it in as his lip began to sting again.

“Nope.” Matsukawa said as he grabbed at Hanamaki’s chin lightly, forcing his mouth open so he could inspect inside. He had to check and make sure there were any other injuries in his mouth that would cause trouble later. “Well, you were never all that pretty to begin with.”

“Ass…” Hanamaki replied, though the word was jumbled as Matsukawa dragged a gloved finger along the backside of his teeth, making sure none were loose or out of place.

Matsukawa followed the same procedure as before; he cleaned the wound, numbed it, sutured it, called Hanamaki a baby one more time, and made one final check for injuries to make sure Hanamaki would be fit as a fiddle. Content with his handiwork, Matsukawa peeled the gloves off his hands and threw them in a waste bin nearby before handing Hanamaki a pack of baby wipes to clean the blood off him. He could shower later, with a plastic bag on his hand, but the wipes would do for the moment.

“I’m going to contact Iwaizumi, see how he and Oikawa are doing. Just clean up and then lie down, okay?” Matsukawa ordered as he propped his hands on his hips, staring down at Hanamaki with a scowl on his face.

“Yes, _mother_.” Hanamaki droned with a roll of his eyes, and Matsukawa shook his head as he left the room. Hanamaki looked at him sideways as he left, biting his lip and looking down at his feet as he sighed. “Wait, hold on.”

Matsukawa stopped in the doorway, resting his hand on frame as he looked back at Hanamaki with a raised brow. “What is it?” He asked, narrowing his eyes as he stared at him confused.

“’M sorry. For, you know…fucking it up.” Hanamaki mumbled under his breath. He had really cocked it up that time around. There were a hundred things he could – and should – have done. But he didn’t.

“If you’re sorry, then be more careful next time.” It was rare to hear Matsukawa be serious. Most of the time the two of them were cracking jokes every other moment, and while they still shared those moments, they were becoming few and far between when the tension that hung over them refused to dissipate, even though much time had passed by then. “We’ve lost enough people. I won’t be burying you next.”

The words cut deep. Flashes of memories sparked in Hanamaki’s mind, graves dug for three on a bright sunny day, sweat mixing with tears as those who remained struggled with their grief, their mistakes, their anger.

Matsukawa left him alone to clean himself up, and Hanamaki sat in silence, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he held his head in his hands.

It had been dark the night before, but he remembered that man’s face. Soft and round, he looked so innocent with his tussled silver hair and warm brown eyes…Hanamaki had thought he was an easy mark. But those warm eyes had become so narrow, so fearless, so defiant…licking the inside of his lip, Hanamaki dragged his tongue over the stitched cut, ignoring the prickling feeling that shot through him as he faintly tasted blood.

‘ _It’s Sugawara…_ ’ that sickly sweet voiced echoed in his mind, and the mere memory of his lips by the shell of Hanamaki’s ear made him shiver slightly.

Sugawara...

What a guy…

 

* * *

 

When Oikawa and Iwaizumi had returned, Hanamaki had gotten an earful. Hanamaki felt like his lecture had lasted for hours the way Iwaizumi went on about being more aware and how his risky attack had been stupid, how he should have tried a different approach – blah, blah, blah. At the end of the day, both Oikawa and Iwaizumi had conceded that there had been none way for Hanamaki to have known what would happen, and the two of them came to the conclusion that this Sugawara person had been prepared for an attack, given the fact that he had managed to disrupt the communication channel between Hanamaki and Matsukawa, something that generally requires specific tech and an advance in preparation.

The four of them had had a long conversation about the man in question, and went to the trouble of double checking where the origin of that assignment had come from. It had been a legitimate job, but the role of this Sugawara person eluded them. Had they been hired to act as a cover for the original target, and the information swapped around to deceive them? Or had he been undercover from the beginning?

But the question that rested on everyone’s lips was who was he exactly, and who he may or may not be affiliated with.

At the time, they had decided it was best left unattended for the moment, and Oikawa set out a plan for them to settle other contracts while Hanamaki rested for a few days – though this was more so out of Iwaizumi’s insistence that it also be a brief suspension period.

Waiting for the days to go by was like itching the same spot until it was red and stinging. It was frustrating, and he had no satisfaction in the time he had to slack off and do nothing. When he closed his eyes, he saw the pair of caramel ones that bore through him, daring him, and whenever he remembered his face he licked his teeth and lightly touched the healing cut on his lip, remembering the taste of blood in his mouth and the chill that set into his bones.

He had lost the initial spite he felt towards him in his dull state. Now – now he was just curious. What for, he didn’t know, but not knowing was making him restless.

When Iwaizumi finally let him off the hook, and when their current contracts were done and dusted, they made a round trip to a well-known underground bar buried deep in the Red Light District. _Nine Lives_ it was called, a tacky name in some respects and no one knew why the owner decided on such a name, but it was one that stuck, and often people simply referred to the bar itself as _Nine_. It was a troublesome place, for more than a few reasons.

To get inside, one need only trot down a flight of stairs and flash and black card that had a red paw print in the corner of it for scanning, and once it was confirmed as legitimate, they were allowed to enter the bar. It was an exclusive place for people of certain walks of life. Gangsters, corrupt politicians and police, hitmen – it was a seething cesspool of scum, and yet it provided bountiful amounts of information for the staff wandering with watchful eyes and perked ears.

Once inside, Hanamaki’s eyes wandered to the booths that lined the walls, the sight of men slouching with women pressed to their sides, giggling at their atrocious stories, all too familiar to him now. The interior of the establishment itself was dark, the floors made of important ebony that was so polished one could faintly see their reflection in it, and the walls lined with dark red velvet drapes. The group of four sauntered across the floor without hesitation, approaching the bar and looking to the tender who was watching them with catlike eyes. He was a short fellow, but the smart never said as much to his face, with short light brown hair and eyes a shade darker.

“Yaku,” Oikawa greeted him with a tight smile. “Is Kuroo available?”

Yaku’s eyes flicked to the door that was adjacent to the bar itself, locked and guarded by two men with menacing glares to deter anyone wandering in the wrong direction.

“Go on. The boys will let you pass.” The reply was swift as Yaku leaned against the bar, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he breathed out smoke.

Matsukawa remained behind as the others began to walk towards the door, explaining that he wasn’t all that interested and had some business to discuss with Yaku. In their line of work, equipment was a necessity and their lives often depended on it. Yaku Morisuke was one of the finest technical experts that could be found in the city, and not only did he have a talent for utilising equipment, he was surprisingly quick to get his hands on just about anything one could imagine.

As Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki headed towards the door that would lead to a series of back rooms, they heard Matsukawa speaking with Yaku, making a short lived comment about how smoking stunts a person’s growth before he was loudly slapped across the face. Iwaizumi muttered that they would be lucky if there was anything left of him by the time they had finished their business, and Hanamaki snorted as he stopped himself from laughing aloud.

Walking down the familiar corridor, their footsteps were muffled by the carpet beneath their boots until they stopped at a door around a bend, knocking on the sleek wooden surface until a voice from within ushered them inside.

The office they entered was wide, decorated with expensive couches and end tables, the walls to the left and right occupied by bookshelves with more labelled binders than could be counted at a glance. Lit by a few dim lights hanging overhead and the neon lights that filtered down through the small windows that were hanging just below the ceiling. Every now and then it was possible to see people walking back and forth, casting shadows into the room before filling it with glowing neon colours.

Behind a desk that seemed heavy and expensive stood two people, a tall and tanned man with a cunning grin and a far shorter man, with dyed blonde hair that exposed brown roots with a slender build, and eyes that seemed vacant and yet all too observant.

“Kuroo,” Oikawa greeted the tall man as Hanamaki closed the door behind then, a friendly smile capturing his features. “It’s been a while. How’s business?”

“Same old, same old,” Kuroo stated as the sly smirk grew as his eyes landed on Oikawa. “I would be happy to share, but it’d cost you.”

Kuroo Tetsurou, one of the most infamous criminals in the city, and a respected information broker – though the latter was only known to his clients. His information cost a pretty penny, but it was reliable information, and Kuroo was one of the few that protected the privacy of his clients. When they were in a bloody business, it was vital that few knew about them, or how to find them more importantly. As part of their operations, a portion of every payment they received went directly to Kuroo – an investment, was the basis of the arrangement.

“So, what can I do for you?” Kuroo stepped around his desk to lean against it as he yanked on his tie and popped open the top two buttons of his dress shirt, tugging on the collar as if to cool himself. His golden eyes bore a hole through them, welcoming and yet wary. “Does this have anything to do with the incident a few days ago?”

“So, you heard about that already?” Iwaizumi’s voice asked with a raised brow, returning his gaze in equal measure.

“Of course, it’s my business to know.” Those golden eyes drifted to Hanamaki, becoming fixed on him. “Besides, it was quite the show, as I hear it.”

“Heard from who?” Hanamaki pressed him on it, and the sly smirk on Kuroo’s face faltered for a moment, and Hanamaki knew he had asked something that hadn’t been expected.

“Interested parties.” Was the curt reply, and both Hanamaki and Iwaizumi narrowed their eyes at him.

“ _Interested parties?_ ”

“You son of a bitch, who the fuck did you speak to?”

As Iwaizumi and Hanamaki thoughtlessly cursed at him, Oikawa turned to them, a sharp glare in his eyes that was not often seen, and it silenced them quickly. Content that they were quiet, Oikawa turned back to Kuroo, walking towards him at the desk and reaching into the inner pocket of his coat. Kuroo was not phased, nor did he feel threatened as Oikawa approached.

Carefully, Oikawa laid a photo face up on the desk beside him along with a thick envelope slip. The photo was the same on that had been provided to them for Hanamaki’s hit.

“We want to know who this person is, and if they belong to an organisation.” Oikawa said as his fingertips slipped away from the photo, allowing Kuroo to see it as he glanced down his shoulder at it.

“Are you recruiting?” Kuroo muttered and Oikawa’s sharp glare narrowed a little more.

“You know we don’t do that anymore.” He snapped the words and Kuroo sighed quietly as he picked up the envelope of money and held it back towards Oikawa, who looked at it in surprise.

“I know who it is.” Kuroo said simply as he shook the stack in his hand a little, encouraging Oikawa to take it back. “And I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Oikawa asked quickly, his surprise faded in an instant after hearing those words.

“Buyer’s confidentiality.” Kuroo heaved the words, as if he were tired of the conversation. He likely was. “You know my policy. I don’t exchange my client’s information.”

“He tried to kill me!” Hanamaki snapped as he stepped forward, slamming his hands on the back of one of the couches that took up the space before the desk.

“You also tried to kill him.” Kuroo retorted sharply, glaring passed Oikawa at him under the mess that was his dishevelled black hair.

“If it’s not how much,” Oikawa raised his voice to both cut Hanamaki off from making another comment and to catch Kuroo’s attention once more. When Kuroo looked back at him and Hanamaki reigned his anger in, he lowered it and spoke more calmly. “Then want do you want in exchange?”

“I don’t give out-” Kuroo began to repeat himself, but Oikawa quickly silenced him.

“-Then arrange a meeting instead.” Oikawa growled the words, becoming frustrated by the way the conversation kept going in circles.

There was a heavy silence as Oikawa and Kuroo stared one another down. Even though Oikawa was making such demands, the reality was that Kuroo held all the power. He had the ability to deny them of what they sought, and to make their lives hell if they did anything reckless. But he was not foolish, not by any means. The Seijoh boys had been a good source of income for him, and from time to time he had even hired them for certain jobs that required a deft touch.

“Don’t make me regret this…” Kuroo groaned the words, a defeated look on his face as he pushed away from the desk and stood just a few centimetres taller than Oikawa, staring him down once more. “There is something I need taken care of. Get your boys to handle it, and I’ll pass on word of a meeting. Whether or not he goes and tells you what you want to hear is his prerogative, understood?”

“Understood.” Oikawa agreed firmly, and the tension that had risen between them evaporated with relative ease.

“Kenma will give you the details, and since you’re running this job for me, I won’t make you pay for whatever gear you need.” Kuroo said as he walked back around the desk and sat down in the wide backed chair. He sank deep into it, exhausted by the discussion and the trouble it might bring him. “Just make sure your boys behave.”

“I’ll see to it.” Oikawa replied snidely as he turned away, snatching back the photo he had laid down and handing it to Hanamaki when he returned to them and exited the office.

Once back in the hallway, Oikawa sighed heavily, mumbling to himself that Iwaizumi and Hanamaki hadn’t made any of that easy on him as he led the way back to bar, only to feel the heavy weight of the two of them kicking their feet against his backside in unison. At the bar, Matsukawa was happily sipping away at whatever drink he had ordered, speaking with Yaku in hushed voices as they looked over a sheet of paper. Matsukawa lifted his head when they approached, and when he asked how it went, Oikawa told him it went while – though Iwaizumi and Hanamaki uttered a displeased groan that made Matsukawa think otherwise.

Briefed on what went down, they waited to be provided with the information for whatever Kuroo’s task was. When it was complete, they would be able to find out about Hanamaki’s mysterious friend.

After some time, the room leading out back was opened, and the slender man with dyed blonde hair walked towards them. Kenma, who to their knowledge was a close friend to Kuroo, and an invaluable asset to his operations.

“Everything you need is in here.” Kenma’s voice was naturally quiet, and Hanamaki had to strain to hear him properly as he was handed an envelope of papers. From the look on his face, he had no interest in dealing with him, and wanted to get the exchange over and done with quickly.

“What’s the job?” Matsukawa asked as he stood and peeked over Hanamaki’s shoulder as he opened the packet, flipping through the pages of a stapled file until their eyes became fixated on a photograph.

“Asset recovery.”


	3. Asset Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to upload this last night but sleep needed to happen, but anyways, enjoy! Especially you Tal, you precious dork. Happy Birthday, again~

On the fringes of the commercial district were plots of land dedicated to the warehousing of goods and equipment, and it was there that Hanamaki and Matsukawa began to set up for the assignment given to them by Kuroo’s assistant.

Hanamaki sat with his back pressed to Matsukawa’s, eyes downcast as he reread the file that had been handed to him just a few hours ago. Behind him, Matsukawa was unzipping a bulky duffle bag, taking out a heavy rifle and couple of handguns. He occupied himself by loading bullets into magazines, the soft clicking of metal filling the silence around them as they hid behind scaffolding, the darkness of the night helping to obscure their position from any wandering eyes or nearby security cameras – though the signal jammer Matsukawa had rigged up when they got on site should kick in when they started to move around.

Kenma had called their assignment _asset recovery_ – often a fancy term people of their ilk used to refer to handling a person of internet. _Handling_ , however, meant several things by itself. Sometimes it meant they had to rescue some who had been kidnapped for whatever reason, something that wasn’t too common for them, or it could mean acquiring information held by a target. Sometimes it meant destroying valuable intelligence to prevent information leaks. The case for this particular incident was the former, only with a catch.

If they couldn’t retrieve the asset alive, they had been instructed to kill them to prevent any further breaches in Kuroo’s network.

The person in question was one of several informants that worked under Kuroo. They hadn’t been provided with a name, as it made his role as an informant a little less meaningful if they knew who he was. Kenma had been more than a little vague regarding how the informant had slipped through the net and gotten themselves abducted, and he hadn’t been overly forthright about their motivations for wanting the informant recovered – for all intents and purposes, the informant would likely be of little use to them after being exposed.

“Stop overthinking it.” Matsukawa’s voice startled Hanamaki, who jolted upright and threw his head back in such a shock it banged against Matsukawa’s. The two of them made a low groaning noise at once, and Matsukawa dropped the pistol clip he’d been holding to cradle his head. “You bastard…!”

“I didn’t mean to do that…!” Hanamaki hissed quietly as he scooted away from his partner before he received a punch to the gut. He had to bite back a snarky reply that it had been his fault for startling him in the first place.

Matsukawa grumbled something under his breath as he picked up the pistol clip and loaded it into the handgun beside him, cocking it quickly with a sharp snap as a bullet slid into the chamber. He took it by the barrel and handed the butt of the gun to Hanamaki, who took it silently and slid it into a concealed holster within the jumpsuit he wore. There were a few workers roaming around doing overtime on the nightshift, so they had made quick work of stealing a uniform that would allow Hanamaki to look for their target without drawing too much attention. If Kuroo’s intel was good – and it almost always was – the informant was being kept at a secondary administration office towards the back of the warehouse compound. Hanamaki would have to cover a few hundred metres distance to get there, while Matsukawa would relocate to a more advantageous position to provide long range support, as was their usual routine.

“Let’s get this over with.” Matsukawa murmured as he slung the heavy rifle over his shoulder, adjusting the strap across his chest so it could be carried easily. Quickly, he handed a small earpiece to Hanamaki, a replacement for the one that had been damaged on his last assignment. “Do me a favour and don’t get your ass kicked again. I’m tired of hauling your fat ass out of gutters.”

“I didn’t get my ass kicked.” Hanamaki glowered at him as he hooked the small communication device to his jumpsuit, taping the wires against his neck and firmly hooking the receiver behind the shell of his ear.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” Matsukawa rested his hand on Hanamaki’s head, pushing down on it as he stood up. Hanamaki swatted his hand away, turning his head to glare up at him. “Seriously though, don’t fuck around this time.”

Hanamaki’s glare disappeared and he looked away, pouting almost childishly as he chewed on the inside of his lip. “Yes _mother_.” He whined and stood up himself, his eyes peering through a slit between the thin wooden boards of the scaffolding.

“Go ahead when you’re ready, but don’t move into the building until I get in position.” Matsukawa patted him on the back a few times before climbing further up the scaffolding to get to the roof of the warehouse.

Hanamaki waited a few moments before climbing down the scaffolding to get to the ground, looking around the corners before sliding a cap over his head and tugging it low over his eyes. He walked slowly across the warehouse grounds, moving between the narrow spaces between the buildings as he approached the administration area.

“ _Makki, you read me?_ ” Matsukawa’s low voice vibrated through his eardrum.

“I hear ya.” Hanamaki murmured his reply, dropping his head so that his voice could reach the receiver on his collar. “You got eyes on your mystery man?”

“ _Yeah, but we’ve got a problem._ ”

“Already? Fuck, lay it on me.”

“ _He’s got a guard detail, and it looks like they’re moving him- you still on the approach?_ ”

“They are _not_ on their way here, are they?”

“ _Looks like. Get out of sight and tail them when they pass, I’m going to follow from up here until they stop._ ”

Hanamaki could only growl a string of curse words as he looked around and dove to hide behind a loading cart full of boxes. After a moment, he could hear voices nearby, becoming louder as their owners’ drew closer, their shadows eventually passing by Hanamaki’s hiding spot. A few of the guards were speaking to each other, talking about how they weren’t being paid enough to babysit some nobody. The _nobody_ in question was the same informant from the file Kenma had handed them. Hanamaki waited several seconds before quietly leaving his hiding spot to peer around the corner to see where they were going. The guards were the typical henchmen seen in buddy-cop films, wearing black suits and shades, and no doubt loaded with some kind of weapon concealed on their person.

When they turned a corner, Hanamaki moved up, keeping out of the spotlights that were used to light the area at night and continued his pursuit. Matsukawa spoke to him quietly through the receiver a few times, giving him brief updates about his position as he followed from above.

Eventually, the guard detail had finished their escort, leading the informant towards one of the many warehouses packed within the compound. They slid the large metal doors open wide, entering and disappearing from sight. Hanamaki waited to receive word from Matsukawa that it was alright to proceed, and when he got confirmation, he scurried to the doors in a low crouch and checked the interior, making sure no prying eyes were looking at the entrance, before darting inside and finding cover behind crates upon crates of cargo.

“ _I’ve got a clear shot from here Makki. I can take the two closest to the target, you got eyes on the other two?_ ” Matsukawa likely had set up on the opposite building, or had moved around close enough to the side to get sights through the windows lining the upper half of the building.

“I see ‘em. Piece of cake.” Hanamaki peered around the edge of the crates. The other two guards had wandered back towards the door. It would be easy for him to pick them off from the position he had taken.

“ _Alright, wait for my- what the fuck?_ ”

If anything, ‘ _what the fuck_ ’ was the absolute last thing anyone would want to hear in that kind of situation. Half the time, it meant something was about to go horribly wrong. The other half, something had already gone horribly wrong, they had just been late figuring it out.

Hanamaki knew in a matter of moments what was going on, as he heard the low rumble of a car engine drawing close and pulling into the warehouse, the headlights shining bright light into the building packed with crates. Hanamaki dared to look around the edge of the boxes once more, just barely catching sight of four other men exiting the car that they left running as they entered the warehouse.

“Well now, you certainly didn’t disappoint.”

“I told you I would deliver. Everything here? Unmarked and untraceable, ready to be put on the market.”

“That so? Let’s have a peek at the merchandise.”

Hanamaki eavesdropped on their conversation – not that he had much choice, with the numbers sorely against him now – and kept his head low as he sneaked around the crates to get a better view. He could not see the faces of the men that had arrived, not properly at least, as the car headlights shone brightly on their backs and left their faces shrouded in shadows. The fact that the warehouse lights weren’t on wasn’t helping either.

There was one thing he could tell for certain though. The informant was clearly a willing party in whatever arrangement had been struck between him and the thugs in front of him. The informant, moving freely under the guards’ watchful eyes, moved to one of the crates behind him and pushed the lid aside, showing the contents to one of the suited men that had arrived in the car. Hanamaki wasn’t able to see what they were looking at, but from the loud whistle, impressed whistle the man let out, it must have been something good.

Which, in that situation, meant it was something bad for him.

“ _Makki, what’s going on? Talk to me._ ” Matsukawa’s voice was full of worry and Hanamaki slunk back into the shadows behind the crates, looking around hastily before he grabbed the lid of one and tried to yank it open without causing a racket.

“Little fucker is trying to cut some kind deal here, probably trying to cash in something big for himself.” Hanamaki whispered, his voice barely audible as he lifted the wooden crate lid and moved it aside, hoping no one heard the small scrapping sound it made when he did so. When his eyes laid on the contents inside the crate, his blood went cold. “Fuck.”

“ _Makki? Hanamaki? What’s going on, you there?_ ”

Hanamaki wasn’t an expert, but in his line of work, he was no stranger to high quality gear. Inside the crate he had opened, and likely the others crates inside the warehouse, were almost military grade weapons; assault rifles, sniper rifles – he was almost certain those were incendiary grenades packed in straw packaging too. Only god knew what else was stored in the warehouse.

What was worse, he recognised some of the makes and models in there. He’d used them before, at one point or another. This wasn’t just any equipment to be sold on the black market.

This was clearly a stash owned by Kuroo’s organisation.

“This motherfucker…” Hanamaki breathed out the words, astonished that the informant would have the guts to try and pull a fast one over Kuroo like this. He wasn’t going to be happy when he heard about this.

“ _Makki, I swear to fucking god, what the hell is going on in_ -”

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing in here?”

His luck must really have been thrown out of a window at the start of the week. Hanamaki turned his head to the side, slipping his hand into his jumpsuit to grab hold of the pistol, drawing it as the guard came into his sights and was drawing their own weapon. Hanamaki was faster by fractions of a second, firing multiple shots as he lifted the pistol. The first bullet connected with the man’s shin, piercing through it and bringing the man low to the ground. The second and third bullets became lodged in the centre of his chest, and the man fell to the ground with a heavy thump in short order.

One down, seven other armed and now alerted guards to go.

Hanamaki reached into the crate behind him as the guards on the opposite side of them turned in alarm, shouting in confusion at the gunshots they had just heard. Two of them fled to an exit at the back of the warehouse, taking the informant with them, which left only a handful of guards left to deal with. Hanamaki’s hand curled around two of the incendiary grenades, tucking one of them into the pocket of his jumpsuit while he held the other tightly in his hand. The sound of cautious footsteps edged closer to him and he shuffled lower to the ground just as the echo of a gunshot rung out through the warehouse complex, accompanied by the unusually familiar noise of a bullet piercing glass and slicing through the air to tunnel through a man’s skull and leave a stain on the ground as the body fell lifeless.

Hanamaki could picture Matsukawa reloading his next shot, the empty shell of a bullet flying past his face as he emptied the chamber and loaded another round in, his teeth ground hard together as he breathed out curses, his eyes unblinking as he stared down the scoping with terrifying aim.

Another shout of confusion from the guards, wondering where the shot had come from, and Hanamaki raised the incendiary grenade to bite down hard on the pin of it. He yanked back hard, the pin sliding free and he swung his arm wide around the edge of the crates, the secondary release latch on the grenade sliding free of the object as it slid across the ground to bounce against the shoes of the guards.

Hanamaki bolted for the warehouse doors immediately. He had no idea what other kind of firepower was kept in there. The guards saw him, their voices loud and full of rage as they raised their guns to fire on him. Another bullet sliced through the air, another guard fell to the ground without another word, and Hanamaki grabbed the edge of the warehouse entrance and jerked his body hard around it as the grenade exploded in a fiery blaze at the guards’ feet, engulfing them immediately. If the shrapnel within the grenade hadn’t killed them alone, the incendiary components would finish the job.

Along with several other explosions, as whatever else was kept in the crates nearby exploded as Hanamaki ducked around the corner one of the adjacent warehouses, a position that was safe enough from the ensuring shockwaves and any debris that may have flown through the air.

Kuroo was probably going to charge him for damages over the rest of his life.

“ _-iro! Takahiro! You better not be dead, you giant asshole!_ ” Matsukawa’s voice, however riddled with static, rang out loudly in Hanamaki’s ear.

“Geez, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Hanamaki breathed out as he looked around the corner at the burning warehouse.

“ _I take it back. Go die, you shit._ ”

“Sorry, not today. Target was leaving from the back of the warehouse, probably gone back to the admin building.”

“ _I’ll meet you there._ ”

Hanamaki made a short hum of acknowledgement as he began to run back to the administration building. They were running on limited time now. There was a good chance that the guards would be calling any allies they had; whether for back-up or for extraction, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the end result, which Hanamaki hoped would include him still being alive when all was said and done.

Halfway to the administration building, Matsukawa regrouped with him, jumping down from the rooftops onto the back of a delivery truck and climbing down swiftly from there. He swung his leg out wide and kicked Hanamaki’s backside, shouting obscenities at him for what he had just done. Before Hanamaki could retort, the sound of screeching tires resounded too close for comfort, and the stopped in the make-shift road between warehouses, caught in the headlights of a car speeding towards them. They did not freeze up, nor flinch, and both jumped back towards the safety of the warehouse to avoid being run over, weapons drawn and firing shot after shot at the driver’s seat to either injure or kill the driver.

One of the bullets must have hit a good spot, as the vehicle suddenly swung to the side, slamming into the side of a building and rolling several times as its momentum carried it on. The sound of metal scrapping against concrete hurt their ears, and Hanamaki cringed as he and Matsukawa lingered close to one another for a moment before approaching the wreck of the car that had stopped in the middle of the road.

“I took the kill shot.” Matsukawa said firmly, and Hanamaki gaped at him as they went to the wreck.

“Like hell you did!” He retorted, but he had little chance to retort again in the moment as a loud bang made him look back at the overturned car. The passenger’s door was being beaten on from the inside, again and again until the door buckled under the repeated force and flew open.

A guard tumbled out of the wreck, dazed and in pain, and without the slightest ounce of hesitation, Hanamaki raised his pistol once more, firing what few bullets remained in the pistol clip at him until he was lifeless on the ground. Had he been any closer, the blood splatter might land on him. Such a thing was a sloppy mistake in their profession. If even a small spot of blood made it onto his clothes, that would be more than enough for DNA testing if he was ever suspected.

Not that he ever would be, unless someone ratted him out. And the only people that could do that were either survivors, or traitors.

“And, behind door number two…” Matsukawa said as he approached the side of the wreck, leaning against it as he touched the battered rear passenger door, smirking widely to himself as it fell open on its own. Hanamaki leaned down, his hair falling slightly away from his head as he stared at the informant hanging from the seat he was just barely strapped into it. He was conscious, if only just, and bleeding heavily from a wound on his head, so much so the blood was dripping from the crown of his skull and pooling on the roof of the car that was under him.

“What do we do? Follow through?” Hanamaki asked with a raised brow as he twisted the pistol in his hand in a small waving motion, indicating he was more than willing to get rid of the pest if need be. Though he’d need another bullet.

“Job was asset recovery. Seeing as this piece of shit is still drawing breath, I say that qualifies. Besides, I think Kuroo’s going to want a _chat_ with this prick.” Matsukawa said as he slung the rifle over his shoulder, lifting his head as the sound of sirens wailed in the distance.

“Guess we better pack it in then.” Hanamaki sighed and bent down on his knees.

He reached into the backseat and cradled the informant’s head so that when he unbuckled the seatbelt, the short fall onto the car’s overturned roof wouldn’t do him more harm. Matsukawa helped drag him out of the car and took him from Hanamaki’s grasp, easily managing to carry him over his broad shoulders. Matsukawa told Hanamaki to remind him to get rid of his clothes after, as the blood dripping from the informant’s head was soaking through his shoulder. As they walked away, Hanamaki paused to reach into the pocket of the stolen jumpsuit, pulling free the other incendiary grenade he had stolen.

“Makki?” Matsukawa gave him a questioning look and Hanamaki paused as he turned back to the car and tugged the pin free.

“No loose ends.” Hanamaki said as he threw the grenade at the car, the metal shell bouncing in the cabin as he turned and continued to hurry away with Matsukawa.

“Be a shame if someone pegged our prints.” Matsukawa hummed in reply as they turned a corner, the delay of the grenade just enough for them to get out of range as it exploded, igniting the car’s damaged fuel tank in the process.

“It’d be a real pain to bribe the police department _again_.” A low chuckle parted his lips as a toothy grin took over Hanamaki’s features, and Matsukawa smiled a little as well as the sirens grew ever closer.

It would take them only a few mere moments to reach the getaway car they had stashed nearby, and a few more to leave the warehouse district alongside other fleeing employees, with their new friend tucked safely away in the trunk. They drove out of the building and even managed to get a few streets away before the flashing lights and wailing cries of police cruisers and fire trucks raced passed them on the opposite side of the road.

And once more, they could not help but smile to themselves. A job complete, though not as they had planned. Kuroo would take care of any complications that may arise. All they needed to do was drop this guy off and that was that.

The thought of being just one dead-drop away from coming face to face with the silver haired assassin sent a chill through Hanamaki. Fear, or excitement? He didn’t know.

But it thrilled him nonetheless.


	4. The Night Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It figures that after not updating for a long time I bump out six thousands words of good god what did I do.

The night was still alive and young by the time Hanamaki and Matsukawa returned with their prize. Matsukawa had sent word ahead about the situation, though when he explained what had happened, Kuroo didn’t sound the least bit surprised. It was very likely he had had a second pair of eyes lurking in the warehouse district, keeping him up to date on the situation as it unfolded. When Matsukawa had finished speaking, Kuroo gave him an address to go to and deliver the informant.

The place they arrived at was a back alley on the fringes of the red light district. Far enough away from prying eyes, but within walking distance of those who needed to get things done. As they pulled in, the cars beaming headlights shone on two men waiting patiently, only their silhouettes visible when the lights were turned off along with the car’s engine.

‘ _Smells like piss…_ ’ Hanamaki thought bitterly as he stepped out of the car and rubbed his face gently. The alleyway was dirty and littered with bits of trash and cigarette butts along the slime covered walls.

While Matsukawa removed their catch from the trunk of the car, Hanamaki looked forward, keeping his eyes set firmly on the two that had no doubt been waiting for their arrival. One was dressed impeccably, wearing a formal three-piece pinstriped grey suit. His eyes were a dark, faded shade of green that were striking and indifferent all at once. Hanamaki recognised him from previous jobs that had required more men than their syndicate had been able to handle.

“It’s Akaashi, right?” Hanamaki asked him, and the man nodded in turn, blinking as he bowed his head in a silent greeting.

Approaching at his side was his companion, a taller and more wild looking fellow, with spiked up hair that was a marvel of black and white, and golden eyes that were brimming with excitement. Compared with Akaashi’s cold and formal appearance, he was underdressed by far, clad in jeans and a layering of thin tank tops that revealed the broadness of his shoulders and the thick muscles of his arms. Hanamaki had seen him before, only once in passing at the Nine Lives bar, but had heard of his exploits in wider circles, though a name evaded them in the moment.

“Your friend is?” Matsukawa asked the question before Hanamaki could voice it himself. Akaashi raised an arm to cross it over his chest as he gestured to his taller companion with an open palm.

“This is Bokuto-san.” Akaashi spoke with as much formality as he took in his appearance.

‘ _Isn’t that a bird?_ ’ Hanamaki squinted at Bokuto and wondered if it was a tradename used to conceal his identity. His hair was sculpted in an odd fashion, resembling something of a horned owl. Maybe it was an eccentric calling card? Hanamaki found it difficult to believe it was his true name, though Kuroo had a strange yet impressive skill in bringing people of all walks of life into his circle of influence.

“You have a package to deliver, hm?” Bokuto hummed the words, his voice trembling with feverish enthusiasm. He took several steps forward, his eyes fixed on the limp and twitching body resting over Matsukawa’s shoulder. When he got a better look at the state the informant was in, he whistled and laughed loudly, a hollering sound that echoed in the dark alley. “Hey, hey, hey! He’s in a bad way, what’d you guys do?”

“He had a bit of a tumble, that’s all.” Several times in fact, while strapped into the backseat of a rolling vehicle. But that wasn’t all that important. Matsukawa handed over the informant to him and Bokuto held him easily over one shoulder while extending his arm to take the heavy duffle bag of weapons they had been instructed to return.

“A meeting has been arranged with whom you asked.” Akaashi’s voice joined in the conversation as he suddenly stood by Bokuto. Hanamaki’s eyes locked onto him as he spoke. He’d been mulling over this for a week, even more so throughout the day knowing Kuroo was going to arrange it for him. “You’ve been cleared entrance to the Rattler’s Pit for the next few hours. Use the time as you see fit, but remember the conditions set by the broker. The owner has requested that you not abuse your time there.”

Hanamaki scoffed quietly and was unable to hide the wide grin that tugged at his lips. The Rattler’s Pit was a renowned night club owned by an acquaintance of Kuroo’s. Hanamaki had never met the man in person, but if Kuroo had arranged it, there was certain to be some level of legitimacy and protection for both parties, given Kuroo’s promises.

“So, that’s that?” Matsukawa asked with a raised brow. “There’s nothing else?”

“That’s that.” Akaashi affirmed. “We’ve been tasked with the recall and disposal of all weapons that were associated with that warehouse.”

“That’s a big job.” Hanamaki mumbled, but he was all together uninterested in the conversation by that point. He shifted nervously, anxious to be on his way. He wondered if the silver haired assassin was waiting for him already.

“It helps to be persuasive.” A thin smirk appeared on Akaashi’s face and Bokuto chuckled beside him, a sound the resonated deep in his chest. “In any case, our business here is concluded. You can leave the car here as well. It will be taken care of.”

“Let’s get to work, shall we?” Bokuto sang the words as he stepped away, carrying the informant into an unlocked building nearby. Akaashi followed after him, but not before bowing his head in a polite farewell to Hanamaki and Matsukawa. When the door slammed shut and was locked, Hanamaki heaved a heavy sigh and squinted at the door.

“Where the fuck does he find these kind of people?” Hanamaki thought aloud and ran a hand through his short hair.

“I think it’s better not to ask.” Matsukawa murmured as both he and Hanamaki turned away to exit the alley and make their way towards the heart of the red light district. After a moment, Matsukawa sent Hanamaki a sidelong glance before driving his gaze away. “Are you sure about this, Makki?”

Hanamaki narrowed his eyes a little, a curious and thoughtful look capturing his features. Was he sure? No. But at the end of the day, it needed to be done. In their line of work, competition could be deadly, regardless of whether or not they were aligned with Kuroo. His alliances didn’t extend to all invested parties. The silver haired assassin, this _Sugawara_ , was for all intents and purposes a wildcard in the industry, at least for the moment. It was important for them to find out at least something about him, and if it sated his curiosity at the same time, what harm was there in that?

“What’s the saying? Know thy enemy and survive a hundred battles?” Hanamaki murmured the odd saying he had heard some years back, a useless bit of information he decided to bring forward on a whim. Matsukawa made an annoyed ‘ _tsk_ ’ noise at him.

“If you know your enemy and know yourself, you won’t be in harm’s way.” Matsukawa began to paraphrase the saying, remembering the quote far better than he did. He was sharp like that. Sometimes Hanamaki thought he was just showing off. “But if you don’t know your enemy or yourself, you will. Which do you think applies to you?”

The words weren’t meant to cause offense, but upon hearing them, Hanamaki stopped in his tracks and glared at Matsukawa, a fierce and sharp stare that left his partner with a guilty look on his face.

“I didn’t mean-” Matsukawa began, but Hanamaki looked away quickly and stomped forward.

“No, you did.” Hanamaki spoke without looking back at him. “I don’t need a babysitter, Mattsun. Take your pity elsewhere.”

“Takahiro!” Hanamaki stopped, grinding his teeth hard as he looked back over his shoulder at Matsukawa, whose expression had truly twisted into one of regret. Hanamaki could see the apologetic look in his eyes and the anger he felt faded by degrees. “You know it’s not like that…”

He did know. He knew where Matsukawa’s concerns rose from. They came from that raw wound that had created a tension between them for months. Hanamaki knew it was hard on him, trying to move on what they had had once, and had failed to work out. Sometimes he forgot about it, something he told himself he was cruel for doing. It left them in an awkward situation, still friends and yet unable to joke and jest as easily and comfortably as they used to. Small things, a simple and comforting touch or a carelessly said word, such these things were a double-edged sword; they were supposed to mean only one thing, but somewhere along the way, the tension returned, and drove another wall between them.

But it needed to end, and for that to happen, the wound would need to fester and burn and ache before it could heal.

“I know.” Hanamaki murmured the words with a soft sigh. “See you back at the bar.”

Matsukawa opened his mouth to speak as Hanamaki turned away and walked on without him, but the air in his lungs suddenly vanished, leaving him standing in the quiet side street under the light of a flickering neon sign, a troubled and pained expression forcing its way through to the surface. “Be careful, idiot…” He mumbled in the softest of whispers before he spun on his heels turn down a side street to return to the Nine Lives bar.

Hanamaki looked backed once of his shoulder to be certain that Matsukawa had gone off on his own before taking a moment to stop and hold a hand to his stomach, a terrible, twisting pain having built up there. It wasn’t easy, on either of them, to try and forget the love they had had for one another. It had ended mutually, calmly and without anger, but they had always cared for one another, long before they had become lovers, and would long after they had split, with any luck. He was passed those feelings; he knew he was.

But it still ached, and it was still raw, and it still hurt to be unkind.

 

* * *

 

The Rattler’s Pit was, as always, a hive of activity. The epitome of night life, the night club was packed with people and Hanamaki could hear the heavy bass of the music outside the building as he approached. The bouncer gestured to him when he got close to the door and passed the long line of bystanders waiting to enter, and handed him black card with a golden snakeskin pattern that glittered when he twisted it to catch the light at the right angle.

He was instructed to leave it at the bar in the V.I.P section, and the bouncer quickly allowed him entrance into the club.

Inside, it was dark, save only for bright flashes of light that sparked from the dance floor under people’s feet, and the music was far louder than he could have imagined, though it bothered him little. The club was a layered building, with a central floor that was lined with booths and two bars lit with neon globes on opposites sides of the room. Stairs led down from the entrance area down into a pit the club took for its namesake, where people could dance and grind on a dancefloor of flashing lights near booming speakers. Hanamaki spied a sign far across the room, a light over a doorway leading to the V.I.P area upstairs, and made his way towards it.

As he walked, he glanced down at his jacket nervously, tugging the sleeves up his forearm and then pulling it higher up over his shoulders, concealing the tattoos that cascaded down his arm, the ink beginning to glow a vibrant red in the dark club. Sometimes he regretted the impulse that drove him to get such a tattoo, but the way the way the lines spiralled and twisted in glowing streams enticed even him, so the regret was short lived and replaced with a childlike wonder and amazement.

The music of the club shook his bones with each step, despite not being on the dance floor. It delved into his system, the heavy bass tricking him into thinking his heart was beating out of a normal rhythm as it filled his ears and robbed his lungs of air. The sensations lasted only a little while, as when he reached the doorway guarded across the club, he was guided into a dimly lit hallway and the music muffled greatly when the door slammed shut behind him.

It was quieter, just enough that Hanamaki could hear the way his boots creaked on the stairs as he made his way up and into the V.I.P section. The music was faded, sounding far away and distant, as if he were hearing it from underwater.

The upper level was one of many, though he knew that any floors higher than the one he was on were no doubt reserved for particular customers and their ilk. Glass windows allowed a wide view of the dancers on the floor below and the lights scattered across the windowpanes and forced him to look away as he moved across the room. There were fewer people by far in the upper level, enough to be good for business, but few that he could walk freely and keep his personal space. He passed one of the lavish bars and dropped the snakeskin print card he’d been given onto it, and watched from the corner of his eye while it was scooped up and tucked away. He continued walking around the area, finding himself a quiet spot near the back of the V.I.P section where he had a good line of sight across the upper level and the floor below as he leaned against a thin rail by the glass.

Hanamaki waited there a long time, his eyes darting across the floor below and to his left and right every so often. He wasn’t stupid. He knew he was here, somewhere. Eventually, he felt the odd, spine-chilling feeling of eyes watching him, and the tension that had been building in him faded a little, replaced by excitement and anticipation.

He remained where he was, waiting for a few minutes, then a dozen, perhaps an hour went by before the figure he had been expecting appeared at his side, an arm brushing lightly against his as the silver haired man leaned against the rails next to him.

“You look like you could use a drink,” his voice was as Hanamaki remembered it, smooth and quiet but with a cunning edge, “can I get you something?”

Hanamaki couldn’t help but smirk at the fact the man has the audacity to greet him with a terrible pick up line seen in bad movies with forced love interests. A chuckle slipped passed his lips and he twisted his body a little to face Sugawara, who was dressed down since their last encounter. The business suit was gone, as he expected, and replaced by a pair of jeans and a light patterned sweater rolled up at the sleeves. He didn’t look threatening in the least. Maybe that was part of his game. He was shorter than he remembered, nearly half a head shorter, but Hanamaki remembered the ass kicking he’d taken, and would not underestimate him on a basis of height or dress code. He was greeted with that overly friendly smile, but there was a keen look in those dark brown eyes, one of utter awareness but also of curiosity. Hanamaki was certain he had a similar air about him.

“No thanks.” He declined the offer swiftly. Even if it wasn’t a ploy by him, he knew the risks of ordering drinks he didn’t see being mixed. Sugawara’s smile grew wider, as if reading his mind and acknowledging his wariness.

“So, if we’re not here to drink,” Sugawara kept his gaze firmly on his, never once breaking eye contact, “what did you want to talk about?”

It was plain and simple for him, really. “You.” The single word seemed to catch him off guard, if only for a split second, and Sugawara’s smile returned.

“What, you want to play twenty questions?” Sugawara hummed the words as he turned around to lean his spine against the rails, his elbows holding his weight up as he hunched his shoulders. When he leaned like that, Hanamaki really had to tilt his head down to maintain eye contact.

“Not quite,” Hanamaki dropped his head to lean in close, his recently scarred lip just barely grazing the shell of his ear, “but I want to know who you work for and if you’re going to be trouble.”

“You’re awfully cocky.” Sugawara did well to ignore the shiver that was crawled up his back and he turned his head to gaze directly at him, barely an inch between their faces. “What makes you think I’ll tell you that?”

“Professionalism between professionals.” Hanamaki murmured the words and stared down his nose as he held Sugawara’s stare easily, his eyes drawn to the mole that seemed more akin to a beauty mark under his eye. “Never hurts to know certain people.”

“So this is all professional, is it?” Sugawara gestured to the busy night club without looking away. Staring at each other as they were was becoming a contest, if an unspoken one.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Hanamaki alluded with a sly smirk. It was an open ended remark that could be taken however he wished, though with how close they stood, it was a thinly veiled suggestion, one that was neither ignored nor explicitly addressed.

“Oh…” Sugawara dragged out the word almost mockingly and let his head tilt back, his upper lip lifting higher in a tighter grin and Hanamaki’s eyes flicked quickly down the pale skin of his neck and back up quickly. There was a thin moment of silence between them, a tension rising as the faded music vibrated through the floor under their feet, and Sugawara looked away from his finally, as if content with something. “I hate to disappoint, but I can’t tell you. Not yet, anyhow. I didn’t come here with the intent to give up trade secrets.”

“I’m not asking for trade secrets.” Hanamaki pressed the matter and pushed away from the glass to stand in front of him, his hands resting on either side of him against the rails as he leaned ever closer. Sugawara inhaled sharply, his chest rising to press against his and Hanamaki pitched a little bit forward, smirking despite himself as he tried to remain serious. “There’s no ill will here. I know this,” Hanamaki licked his lip gently, drawing Sugawara’s gaze to the scar he had left, “was just business. I’m not here to chase you home and kill your friends or employers. Just wanting to get to know my new neighbour, that’s all.”

Sugawara’s gaze rested on his lip a second longer than it should have before he lifted his gaze to stare up at Hanamaki, his elbows locked as he held onto the rails and tried to still the voice of temptation in the back of his mind.

“Karasuno.” The word was barely a whisper but Hanamaki heard it, and it brought echoes of faded memories to mind.

“I know that name.” He murmured, and Sugawara smirked a little in turn. The name had been tossed around in whispers as of late, an old organisation that was said to be stirring up trouble and accepting contacts once more after the mysterious disappearance of its figurehead some years ago.

“Then I needn’t say anymore.” Sugawara replied curtly, though not out of indifference. Hanamaki expected as much, it wasn’t as if he had gone there with the intention of rooting out who his allies were. It was enough to known he was associated with an organisation, and not a freelancer running around. The rest would come naturally, through whatever means Oikawa deemed fit to pursue.

His curiosity had been sated, for the moment.

Casting a quick glance down at the face of his watch, barely able to decipher the time in the dark, he made the decision it would be time to leave. He’d already been there for a few hours, and he’d had been told not to linger longer than necessary.

“I suppose that will do, for now.” Hanamaki smirked at him and stepped away, putting a small amount of distance between them, and remaining just out of his reach. Sugawara made no attempt to chase him.

“I can’t convince you to stay for one drink?” Sugawara did, however, lean back further against the rails and give him a wide, inviting smile. A sudden thought occurred to him, and Hanamaki smiled as he closed the distance with more intent, standing in his personal space once more. Sugawara did not flinch away, and laid a hand on his chest as Hanamaki leaned close and bent his head to compensate for his height.

“No thanks,” he repeated his earlier refusal as he rested a hand on the rail which casually slipped to the small of his back and pulled him just the slightest bit closer, “but it’d be wrong to leave without leaving a gesture of goodwill...”

A quick roll of the shoulder and a tug on his waist brought Sugawara into his chest as Hanamaki pressed his lips to his in a rough kiss. Sugawara did not shy away. His hand grabbed at the fabric of Hanamaki’s shirt, fingers clinging to it tightly as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. A flick of the tongue against Hanamaki’s lip encouraged him to open his mouth and reciprocate the gesture. Their eyes did not close, the two stared at one another through half lidded eyes as noses brushed against cheeks and warm tongues glazed over one another, with teeth knocking together in the rough and hasty kiss.

Hanamaki then smirked, grinning widely as he shifted to overlap their lips, trapping Sugawara’s upper lip in his before bringing his teeth forward and biting down there roughly, tugging roughly on the skin until he saw Sugawara wince and gasp into his mouth. Hanamaki pulled back abruptly, the taste of copper remaining on his lips and tongue afterward.

Sugawara quickly pushed against his chest, putting a small distance between them as he raised a hand to cover his bleeding lip. Hanamaki smirked as he bent his head once more to murmur into his ear.

“Just returning the favour, with interest.” Hanamaki laughed, his warm breath ghosting over Sugawara’s ear. Sugawara jerked his head away, his face tinting the faintest shade of pink as he pressed his hand tighter over his mouth, a small trickle of blood dropping from his chin.

Hanamaki stepped away properly that time, turning to walk away as he waved to Sugawara over his shoulder, calling out a brief ‘ _until next time_ ’. He could feel Sugawara’s eyes drilling a hole through his back as he walked away, though he could not see the way Sugawara licked his lip beneath his hand, the smallest smile splitting his lip and making it ache.

Hanamaki trod down the steps to bring himself back to the night clubs main floor. The sound of rushed and heavy club music was deafening as he left the stairway. He was momentarily blinded by the flashing lights and blinked as he made his way back to the entrance to leave. People moved on either side of him, the throng of people thick and creating a suffocating air around him as he shoved his way through.

A heavy hand came down on his arm all of a sudden and he rolled his shoulder to shake off whatever stranger was trying to turn him around. When the act was repeated, Hanamaki spun on his heel to politely inform them the lay off before he decided to beat them to death, but had little chance to react to the sight of a man averaging around his height and weight aiming a punch at his head. The blow struck Hanamaki hard on the cheekbone and knocked him back, his back banging hard against the thicker, sturdier rails separating the upper bar level from the pit of dancers below.

Hanamaki ignored the cracking pain in his cheek as he raised his head to look at his assailant. At first, he thought he might have been just some drunken idiot vying for a fight. On closer inspection, as the person reeled back for another attack, Hanamaki noticed a few key things; gloved hands, a bandana wrapped tightly around the lower half of his face, the strap over his chest that disappeared under a vest, the trademark of a common piece of holstering equipment.

This person was intent on a fight, and with him in particular. People like Hanamaki were never attacked on a whim, but he didn’t have the time to debate about the specifics of who had sent the man and why.

Hanamaki shifted to grip the rails behind him, adjusting his stance and fixing his shoulders into the right position just as the masked man closed into his reach. Quickly, Hanamaki shifted his weight and heaved his legs up to bring them down over the man’s arms as he tried to grab him. He locked his legs over the joints of the man’s elbows and used his upper body strength throw himself back as he pulled the man over his head, the momentum from his attacker’s lunge the main force that drove them over. The two fell into the pit and created a gap between the dancers as they crashed to the glass floor, leaving the flashing fluorescent floor chipped and cracked under them.

Rolling swiftly, Hanamaki stood and allowed himself to be swallowed by the crowded dancers, ducking under arms and guided by their movements as he made for the exit. His eyes glanced up, seeking out any of the bouncers who may have seen the attack, and the alarm that shot through him when he noticed none present nearby couldn’t be underestimated.

A hundred thoughts ran through his mind all at once. Was it a set up? Had Sugawara come with the intent to snuff him out? Or had he been followed, pegged as a target for a past contract? Either was just as possible, but Hanamaki had little time to think on it as he felt a pressure at his back that was far too forceful for it to be the elbow of a dancer. Hanamaki twisted to push himself between two people nearby, watching his masked attacker slip by before reeling to chase him. He was determined, Hanamaki could admire that – if he lived to do so, that is.

A gap between dancers allowed his assailant to catch up with him. Forced to engage him, Hanamaki ducked out of his grasp, the flood of music beating through his ears as he tried to keep his gaze focused on the man in front of him despite the flashing lights at his feet. They exchanged blows to the heavy vibrations of the music, back and forth, ducking under punches and skipping back out of one another reach. An opening came and Hanamaki twisted as the man tried to close in with a punch aimed at his throat. He evaded the punch, quick to slam his forearm against his arm while moving around the outer curve of his body, his other hand slipping into the holster hidden under the vest. His fingers curled around the grip of something heavy and familiar to him, and Hanamaki pulled it free and out of the man’s grasp as he kicked the man’s back and sent him forward into the dancers and away from him.

As he raised the barrel to fire on the man, something hard connected with the side of his face and shattered against his temple. Glass ripped into his skin and alcohol dripped down his face, burning the small wounds as blood poured with it and blinded him in one eye. A second attacker tried to wrestle the gun from his grip, and Hanamaki twisted his arm hard before dropping the gun and catching it with his free hand, the barrel perfectly angled for him to pull the trigger and bury several rounds deep into the man’s chest. The sound of gunshots melded perfectly into the beat of the music that hammered through the club and Hanamaki turned his attention to the original attacker who was quickly advancing on him.

Hanamaki lifted the gun a second time, ready to fire, but the man came to a stumbling halt in front of him. Blood soaked through the bandana on his face, dripping through the fabric and onto the dance floor. Hanamaki looked closer, eyes narrowed in the dark and throwing the glaring lights, and saw two hands that had snaked around his body and held the hilt of something slim and metallic. Long curves knives had cut deep into his flesh, buried through his throat and piercing his chest. When they were removed and the body fell, Hanamaki was startled to see Sugawara there, one side of his face and body covered in blood splatter. There was a sizeable hole through the bottom corner of his sweater, and the crimson stain growing there told Hanamaki he had been shot.

Without missing a beat, Sugawara stepped over the fallen body as a scream echoed faintly over the music and he grabbed Hanamaki pulling him close enough to whisper into his ear. “There are more coming from the entrance, we need to go!” Hanamaki could barely make out the hoarse shout in his ear. Whatever was going on, they were both the target of the evening, Hanamaki could piece together at least that much.

With a temporary alliance silently agreed to, Hanamaki took one of the knives Sugawara wielded, remembering how he had been on the receiving end of one not long ago, and in exchange handed the gun he had acquired to Sugawara. The made it clear of the dance floor as people became aware of the corpses laying on the cracked floor and Hanamaki crossed the floor with Sugawara in toe. Hanamaki roughly rubbed the side of his face with the sleeve of his jacket, rubbing the side of his face and making a vain attempt to wipe the blood off his face.

A few men melded out of the shadows in front of them with barely enough time for them to react. One grabbed Hanamaki, holding him by the scruff of his jacket and with a hard twist Hanamaki pried himself loose of the garment to snake it around his arm and twist himself into a position that would force the attacker closer to Sugawara and himself towards the other two men. Sugawara leapt forward, favouring the single blade he’d been left with and with a quick flick, he sliced it across the man’s throat before repeating the action for good measure as Hanamaki turned his attention to the second and third men approaching. Both were armed, and Hanamaki lunged at the one on his right, using his larger form to shield himself from the other as he latched onto the man’s forearm and stabbed the blade through his wrist and twisted it until he dropped his weapon.

Sugawara had a clear line of sight on the other man, and unloaded what few remaining bullets he had in the clip in the centre of the man’s chest, directly below his throat and no doubt destroying his airway, leaving his lungs to fill with his own blood. Sugawara kept his eyes peeled for anyone else approaching as Hanamaki quickly stripped the dead men for weapons, both ignoring the way that clubbers nearby shrieked and backed away in a drunken bewilderment. Sugawara saw quick movement approaching from across the smoker’s zone and nudged Hanamaki with his foot, and they armed themselves with the weapons of the deceased as they shoved through the night-goers.

Keeping close to one another as they weaved through the crowd, the approach the bar and leapt over the counter. The bartender shouted at them, and with a quick movement, Sugawara had grabbed one of the unopened bottles of alcohol lining the walls and cracked it across his face, leaving the man unconscious on the ground. Hanamaki grabbed his arm to pull him back, leading him into the back rooms for staff and storage that they ran through before slamming into a fire exit. Sugawara made a move to run outside but Hanamaki grabbed his arm, yanking him back once more and hauled him towards another door close by that led upstairs.

Their feet pounded on the stairs as they ran up, constantly looking over their shoulder and down the rails to see if they were being followed just yet. Each step up made Sugawara wince painfully, blood soaking through his clothes from the open wound on his hip. The skin there burned hot and left his nerves frayed and exposed but he ignored the pain as best he could.

The flight of stairs came to an end at the top of the building, and Hanamaki kicked the door free from the lock with two decent strikes that allowed them to step onto the club’s vacant rooftop. Sugawara followed after, leaning against a large roof ventilator as he peeled his sweater and sweater up, looking at the wound on his hip. Hanamaki glanced at him and looked away before doing a quick double take and approaching his side to look at the wound.

“Sit still.” He said as he bundled up the front of his shirt to press it to the area, soaking up the blood that had smeared across his skin.

“Fuck…!” Sugawara’s abdomen trembled as he sucked in a sharp breath and Hanamaki pulled his shirt away, the area less bloody save from the trickle of blood leaving the two wounds on his hip.

“Looks like the bullet ricocheted off your hipbone.” Hanamaki looked at the exit wound that was noticeably larger the entry wound, both jagged injuries but small enough that they could be dealt with. “Can you move?”

“Yeah.” The word was hissed and Hanamaki stood to look over his shoulder at the rooftops, looking for a familiar landmark in the distance, and once finding it, he looked back at Sugawara, who was cradled his hip.

“Oi,” Hanamaki called out to him, and when he held his gaze, he spoke again, “this is a warning, right now. If you fuck me over, I will kill you.”

“The same goes for you.” Sugawara’s gaze narrowed at him, just as suspicious as he was. It took several moments of long silence between them to settle on the conclusion that neither truly knew what was going on.

“There’s a syndicate safe house nearby. We can get there over the rooftops, if we’re careful.” Hanamaki cocked his head to side, gesturing over his shoulder. “Are you sure you can move alright?”

“I have to, don’t I?” Sugawara growled as he stood up, bouncing in place as he relied on the adrenaline to keep him going for the moment.

“C’mon then, follow my lead. We’ll head down onto the street once we get some distance from this place.” Hanamaki explained as he began to turn away and Sugawara nodded, not that he could see it, and followed after him.

The two began to dash across the rooftops, easily clearing the small gaps between buildings over alleyways until they were far enough away and had a safe means to descent onto the street. From there, they stuck to the back alleys, keeping out of sight of anyone that might report two armed men covered in blood. Barely a word was spoken between them as they made the approach to a safe house used by the Seijoh Syndicate, and Hanamaki only stopped to look back at Sugawara to make sure he was following as best he could.

The closer they got, the more Hanamaki’s stomach twisted nervously. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake bringing Sugawara there. It wasn’t like there was anything important there that could be stolen, save for some basic equipment that could be found anywhere on the black market. At the end of the day, it would be no less dangerous than the tumble in the club, and the burning pain spreading through Hanamaki’s forehead reminded him they were both injured and were in no proper condition to keep fighting.

Casting aside his suspicions and worries, Hanamaki made Sugawara pause by him in the shadows for several long moments to ensure they were not followed, and once certain of that, he beckoned the silver haired assassin forward towards a cellar door well hidden under debris in a vacant and rundown parking lot. With no prying eyes watching them enter, Hanamaki slammed the cellar doors over their heads, and allowed himself a moment to breath before turning his attention to Sugawara, who had slumped against the wall of the dark stairwell leading to the underground hideout.

What a long night it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have called this chapter "I lack any and all restraint when it comes to writing fight scenes."  
> More importantly, in this AU, Hanamaki has UV tattoos which can be seen under black lights, etc. If you want to get a better idea of it, see here: http://static.boredpanda.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/glow-in-dark-tattoos-uv-black-light-381__605.jpg or google things like "uv tattoos" "glow in the dark tattoos" and so on.


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